


Pas de Trois

by retrowavesasquatch



Category: Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Child Death, Double Penetration, M/M, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M, Trans Masc Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retrowavesasquatch/pseuds/retrowavesasquatch
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

The mystery surrounding who shared the captain’s affections became clear when the bosun walked in with the dinner tray. Smee knew he should’ve paid attention, should’ve knocked. The comfort he felt with the latest in the boy’s line of arch-nemesis was something he’d begun to take for granted. Not once had it felt as if he were treading eggshells, or that he was at risk of having that hook plunged into his gut. He’d fallen for those eyes the color of a stormy sea, and as hypnotic as a gorgon’s.

He never once heard the sounds, until he’d closed the door behind him, and turned. The man he’d nursed back to health after the boy dumped him on the deck, pretty as a package, was being plowed into the pillows. Smee hesitated long enough for Murphy to wind the captain’s hair like a rope, pulling him upright. That long neck craned back, and those eyes found him standing there near the vanity. “Begging your pardon, Cap-“ he began to stumble over his words, embarrassed, jealous, and afraid all at once.

The captain interrupted his stuttering with a low, rasping: “come here.” It wasn’t the voice he used when barking orders and playing his part on deck. It was the one that curled around Smee’s spine, warm and tingling. The one that stirred his loins, and made him love the man all the more.

For a moment he considered ignoring him. He could simply set the tray down and leave. Jealousy could wrap his heart up tight, and squeeze it until he hurt. Tearing his eyes away from Murphy’s large, dark hand on the captain’s neck was difficult. Strands of those long, dark curls threaded between his fingers; Curls Smee enjoyed brushing out before washing his hair. In that moment he hated that someone else could touch them. He despised Murphy for being everything he wasn’t: Tall, muscular, strong jawed, with an arched and noble nose. His graying beard was always groomed, and his long hair expertly wrapped. He was a man who was a portrait of masculinity. It was no surprise to Smee that he’d caught the captain’s eye.

It wasn’t as if he didn’t know. The captain had told him. He’d whispered it against his neck as they lay together on the chaise, watching the sun rise between the island’s central mountains. It hadn’t felt real then. They were just words. At that time he’d shared affections with a faceless, shapeless entity. That had been easier than being confronted with someone like Murphy. The former powder monkey turned master gunner was a handsome man. He wasn’t the smartest of the lot, but he had a good head for common sense. He’d been with the crew since the first of the captain’s namesakes, longer than Smee, who was the second in line of his name.

I could leave, he thought. The breakfast tray clinked on the table, the spoons rattling against the porcelain. In stead of turning away, he found himself drawn towards the entwined pair. As he stepped forward, the captain pulled free of Murphy. His finely boned fingers, the tips of which were as cold as the iron hook, rested against Smee’s cheek. His cock strained against the front of his trousers when the captain pulled him into a kiss. It was a scorching thing that stole his breath, and left him craving more.

At first he’d been hesitant. The idea of having to see Murphy behind the captain didn’t settle well. It made him self conscious. Enough so that he tried to take his glasses off. With the world a bit fuzzy, and Murphy a shapeless entity once more, perhaps he could keep the jealousy and doubt tamped down. The captain, however, pushed them back up his nose with the curve of his hook. His lips were dry, but his tongue was hot against Smee’s neck. “Don’t hide from me.”

It was a tight squeeze. The way the captain hissed between his teeth, and furrowed his brows made him worry that this pained him. Smee was satisfied with being still and letting Murphy take the lead. He remembered how fragile the captain had been during those first months. He’d healed physically, but mentally it’d taken far longer to recover. The man didn’t say a word for near forty days. Every so often he feared a relapse into that deep melancholy.

There was no such trepidation in the master gunner. His hands were rough, and his fingers bit into the captain’s pale skin. Murphy’s gruff “take it”, and the way the captain gasped, was electric. The sensation of Murphy’s cock against his, and the tight heat, gave rise to tentative thrusts of his hips. Moving opposite of him, Smee was quick to learn just how delicious the sounds they could pull from the captain. 

Murphy outlasted them both. The warmth of the captain’s orgasm spread across Smee’s lap, and trickled onto the sheets below. It was the first time he’d seen him come without fingers tucked into his slit.

The captain’s body was heavy against his until Murphy drew him up. The strong arm hooked him beneath the breasts and held him upright. In stead of jealousy, Smee felt his cock try to stir at the sight. If he could’ve mustered it, he’d join in once more. The captain was as loose as he was limber, and he watched his chest heave above Murphy’s thick forearm. The sound alone would’ve been enough to get a rise from him, but he was spent.

It was then an idea struck. Not wanting to simply lay there and be witness, Smee rose to his knees. The captain, he knew, could come at least once more; Twice more if he was in the mood. His fingers delved into the dense black hair between his legs, and found what he sought. “Hell’s bells,” he murmured against the captain’s jaw, “how slick you are.”

That was an understatement, Smee thought. The captain’s nethers were as slimy as a hagfish. He didn’t like anything up the front, not even fingers. So Smee stroked his cock, and on the occasion, teased the inner folds. Encircling the opening but never pressing into it, he pulled wonderful sounds from the captain. He tried to time the movements of his thumb with Murphy’s thrusts, which were quickening. It wasn’t long before his hand was wet, and the hot come trailed down his arm. It threaded between his fingers, glistening and thick.

Murphy didn’t let up, and by the time he had his fill, the captain was a rag doll in his grasp. Smee pushed the sweat damp hair from his face, marveling at how beautiful he looked heavy lidded and flushed. The kiss was breathless and sloppy, cut short when Murphy tilted his head to steal one for himself.

He’d’ve been satisfied collapsing there, but he knew the captain would do well with a warm bath. To his surprise, Murphy asked what he could do to help. All the roughness was gone. His voice was gentle, and he was so tender with the captain.

Together they filled the tub with hot water, and helped the captain to the basin. His legs trembled like a fawn’s, and he leaned heavily on them both. Boneless he sank into the water, and dozed while Smee combed out his hair. Murphy was equally attentive, but busied himself with tidying the bed and changing the sheets. He seemed a bit lost when it came to verbal affection, and was satisfied to let Smee fill that role.

The captain, once clean and dressed, settled on the chaise for an evening smoke. The cigarillo quivered between his shaking fingers. The dinner was long cold, but he didn’t complain. He picked at the food until most of it had been eaten, though not by him. The captain was a notoriously light and picky eater. He had a preference for neverbird, but they hadn’t been able to get to the inner islands, to the nests, for a fortnight. So it was fish, and the captain only ate that begrudgingly, with plenty of garlic and lemon.

Smee found no kernel of jealousy forming when he watched Murphy feed the captain a slice of dried apple. In stead he smiled, and stroked his still damp hair. He may never desire Murphy, but he found some contentment with their arrangement. It wasn’t the ideal relationship. He’d never be the sole recipient of the captain’s affection. However, the master gunner made no attempt to threaten their relationship, undermine him, or vie for more attention. Murphy filled a need that he couldn’t, but it made him no less important.


	2. Ignominy

There were fantasies he’d never speak aloud for fear of embarrassment. His own timidity kept them wrapped in his mind, and occupied his thoughts in the early, predawn hours. They’d lead him to the cramped toilet in the captain’s quarters. Where, in the dark, he could feel free to dwell on them without waking Jas.. Without Murphy, he felt vulnerable to the captain’s attention.

The jealousy had long cooled, but he still longed for those moments when they first gave into lust. Now, with it presented to him on a gold platter, he felt anxiety begin to gnaw away at his core; A small, fluttering sensation that wouldn’t settle. He felt it when they first kissed, and it’d been so overwhelming that he’d been afraid he’d faint.

The stars reflected in the calm sea, only blotted out by the void of one of the small inner islands. Smee wasn’t certain of their names, if they had any. The captain leaned against the railing of the small, private balcony. It was situated just below the upper deck, giving a sense of intimacy, and relief from curious, prying eyes. The cigarillo flared, casting his sharp features in harsh shadow. When he turned to look at Smee, smoke curled from his nostrils like a dragon.

He loved how he looked in these quite hours. His breasts were free of the clever layers; layers which gave the illusion of a broad, and sturdy masculine chest. The outline of them were visible beneath the burgundy robe. His loose hair was ruffled by the light breeze, pulling the serpentine coils around his face and neck.

Emboldened by the darkness, Smee tucked Jas.’s hair behind his ears. Losing his nerve within the instant, he dropped his hands with a quick “sorry, Captain.”

Jas. took a final drag from the cigarillo before flicking it into the sea. With the curve of his hook, he lifted Smee’s chin. The taste of smoke was thick on his tongue when he kissed him. “Don’t apologize to me, Mr. Smee, unless I demand it.”

 _Demand it_. His cock stirred at the thought, mixing with guilt and shame. An apology would be owed, should be owed if the captain ever learned that it was he who hid the journals. He was the reason Jas. couldn’t remember the name Dorian Southwood. He was why there were only vague memories of strange technologies, and a faceless family. It made his heart pound, and his cock hard.

He avoided Jas.’s eyes, focusing in stead on parting the front of his silk and velvet robe. “What would you demand of me now, Captain?” He asked as trembling fingers grazed the warm skin along his sides. His thumb traced the curve of his breast, as he watched the ribs beneath expand with a breath.

The cool iron hook pressed into his chin, trapping him in his gaze. “Worship me.”

On his knees, Smee let Jas. drape a leg over his shoulder. Above his head he heard the thunk of the hook embedding itself in the railing. The scent of him was overwhelming, and strongest in the thick black hair.

To worship him was Neverland’s greatest gift to Smee. He secretly longed for an audience, to be caught. Who could be out on that dark island, or perhaps in the waters below? The prospect tickled his insides as he parted the hair, and took Jas. into his mouth.

Without Murphy, Jas. tended to be more subdued with his sounds. Smee preferred it: The muted groans, the long, shuddering exhale, the breathless “fuck, yes.” Things were more intimate, more intense without the roughness. Though, in the back of his mind, Smee longed to have the confidence to fuck Jas.’s mouth. To make him gag around his cock until tears streamed down his cheeks was a fantasy that plagued his mind. He quelled it by focusing on Jas., on teasing the inner folds, and the tip of his cock until the hot rush of his cum ran in rivulets down his chin.

The iron hook had carved a deep gouge in the railing. Smee could feel the faint tremors coursing through his inner thighs. As he stood on legs stiff from kneeling, he smoothed Jas.’s hair from his brow, and told him he’d fetch a bath.

Jas. could be deadly quiet. Smee let out an audible gasp as the prosthetic snared him by the trousers. He felt Jas.’s breath against the back of his neck as his good hand snaked around his waist. “We can’t be leaving things so one sided. Bad form and all.” Smee leaned into him as his fingers traced the outline of his cock. “So, Mr. Smee, what are we going to do about this, hmm?”

“I-I don’t know, Captain.”

“I think you do.” He murmured against his ear.

Smee found himself pressed into the wall. The iron was cool against his skin as he deftly unbuttoned the front of his trousers. He’d seen Jas. gut men, and lost boys alike with the same flicking motion he used to free Smee’s cock. The hook snared him, the curve of it cradling him at the base. It was the thrill of danger that prosthetic posed that excited him most.

Two fingers, slicked with his own wetness, pressed into Smee. He groaned into the tapestry his face was pressed against. Jas.’s knee coaxed his legs apart, and his lips whispered against his neck. “How often have you thought of this, hmm?” Smee could feel his smile. The way his teeth grazed his skin as he spoke words that caused him to flush in shame. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice when you’d slip off to my private closet? Mm, you did, didn’t you? You wanted to be caught.”

Jas. was only a blurry outline in his periphery, but his presence was solid at his back. What the captain lacked in anatomy he made up for with the force of his hand with each thrust. His fingers curled in the tapestry, fisting the tasseled hem as the words burned his cheeks and set his body aflame.

“Answer me, Mr. Smee.”

“Aye, sir.” He whispered into the dark, wine red fabric.

“Louder.”

As the iron hook slid up the underside of his cock, Smee came with a “yes.” He’d shouted it into the tapestry far louder than he’d wanted. Instinctively he cringed, both hoping and dreading being overheard by the overnight crew. It sent a thrill through him at the prospect of the eyes that would follow him, knowing what he and the captain had done.

Afterwards, he drew the bath as was routine. All the while, as he combed out Jas.’s long hair, his body ached in ways he’d never experienced. It wasn’t an uncomfortable sensation, but new. One he hoped would be frequently felt in the future.

Jas. closed his eyes and leaned his head against his shoulder. “Was that everything you’d hoped for?”

The question caught him off guard, and the tone of it was different. This was the voice he remembered from the first months, when Jas. was still fighting Neverland’s influence, and the changes it made. The words were laced with insecurity. Smee rested his cheek against his damp hair. “It was more than that.”

That Jas. seemed to see right into his mind never ceased to frighten and arouse him all at once. He pressed a kiss to the captain’s crown, knowing it was merely perceptiveness. Extremely high perceptiveness, but perceptiveness nonetheless. Jas. had no supernatural abilities. Only the boy was allowed that. Still, of all his secret shames, he prayed the worst of them all would remain hidden from the captain.

That fluttering ate away at him as he glanced at the floorboard where the journals were stashed; resting alongside the bizarre clothing he’d been wearing.


	3. Chapter 3

Four nights, four long sleepless nights, and then peace. It cost him his dignity, but at last he could rest for a few hours. “I’ll gut Too Slow next time I see him,” he said to the infant cradled in his arm. “It’s better than he deserves for inflicting you on me, you little leech.”

He looked down at the girl, and found all the past resentments had cooled. She’d reminded him of what set him apart from his crew; what would always set him apart. 

At the beginning he’d hated her for being a helpless, mewling, little parasite. Dark thoughts would cross his mind as he’d tried to placate her: Leaving her adrift for the mermaids or crocodiles, or simply abandoning her on the island. There were moments where he’d been so greatly tempted to shake her in frustration. Afterwards, as she slept, guilt would eat away at his own. He didn’t truly mean to act of those thoughts. He was no monster. 

It’d felt like a betrayal at first. Years he spent fighting against a body he’d always felt uncomfortable in, and now that he was settling into his skin, he found himself saddled with an infant. 

Too Slow had appealed to Murphy, and it was Murphy who brought her into his cabin at the bloody crack of dawn. She wailed until exhausting herself, and they’d attempted to give her water in a soaked square of linen. “She won’t make it long on water, and coconut milk alone,” he’d said to Smee, who was going through the old logs in search of a reference to any creature safe enough to try and milk.

“We could ask the faerie court. They raised the boy from infancy.”

“And that’s the very reason I refuse to consider that.” Neverland didn’t need another Pan. He was the reason she was here. Her mother was too old to come play house, so he’d taken the baby.

Moving her to the other side proved difficult with his hook. It was an awkward shift, but he managed without jostling her too much. Ten more minutes, and he’d be free for a few hours. 

She wasn’t a terrible burden. Once he was able to feed her, she settled right down into a shockingly easy routine. Every two to three hours she wanted food, she’d nap, then need changing. The latter he left up to the crew. If he had to get up at all hours of the night, then they could take care of that. Once word got out about his part, for Murphy can’t keep a secret to save his hide, they stopped complaining about the task.

He was glad for the cloth over his shoulder, but it didn’t fully save his shirt from the milky vomit that dripped down his arm. “You’re a disgusting little blighter,” he said, though it lacked any venom.

Once she was cleaned up and put down, he changed into a fresh shirt. Keeping himself wrapped up saved him from visible leaks, but it was uncomfortable. Now that the crew knew, he didn’t have to hide it, though the embarrassment still weighed heavy on his shoulders. He drew his coat tight, and wrapped the sash to keep it in place.

The two hour window was all he needed to go ashore. Jas. was confident in his prediction of where to start digging for Barbecue’s last remaining cache. He was grateful his predecessor had done most of the work for him. All but four chests remained by the time he’d taken over the role, two of which had been narrowed down to a fairly small search radius. Following leads, solving riddles, disarming traps, Jas. reveled in it all.

Here gold and gems were lovely, but cold iron was worth more than a king’s ransom. Iron wasn’t native to Neverland, and it was the only thing proven to actually hurt Pan. Whatever the faeries had done to him as a child, resulted in that weakness. All fey creatures on the island feared his hook, and the bite of his sword. With this last cache, he hoped to have enough to outfit the majority of the crew.

He lingered at the door, and watched the little sleeping form in the bassinet. “Sleep well, leech.”

  
When he returned, successful, and well worn from working in the sun, Smee was there to greet him. The leech squirmed in his arms, fussy, and aggravated. “I’m sorry, sir, I know you’d like a rest-“

“It’s alright, Smee.” He said, suppressing an exhausted sigh, and told him to join him in the cabin.

There, and able to kick his boots off, he sank into the chaise by the window. Smee handed the girl over after he opened his coat. Normally he’d dismiss the bosun, but he wanted company. Jas. was tired of playing the part of captain, barking orders, and directing action. He wanted a conversation, but would settle for comfortable silence.

Smee busied himself with massaging his feet. His thumbs pressed into the arch, and Jas. couldn’t stop the groan of pleasure. While the leech was latched, he noticed how Smee looked everywhere but his chest. The tense line of his shoulders, and how red the tips of his ears were gave away his nervousness.

He reached forward, brushing the curved side of the hook against his jaw, and asked what troubled him. There was an inkling as to what caused the anxiety, but his perceptiveness frightened Smee.

With a shake of his head, the bosun gave a shy smile. “Sorry, it just feels like I’m intruding on something private.”

Jas. snorted, “I’d wanted it to be, but we all see how that worked out, eh?”

“Poor fellow didn’t last a week.” Smee chuckled, and some of the tension eased from his frame.

To give him something to focus on, he asked Smee to read to him. There was a copy of the Eton Chronicle he hadn’t read yet. The old book was well worn, and well loved by his namesake. The cover was discolored in the places where he’d held it, and on the front, a small indent from the tip of a hook that closed it.

The even drone of Smee’s voice must’ve lulled him to sleep. Jas. jerked awake suddenly to find the window dark, and the leech gone. For a brief moment panic set in. Had Pan taken her? Had the faeries?

Jumping up from the chaise, he checked the bassinet, and was relieved to find her there. As his heart slowed, he reached in and pulled the blanket over her. It was then he realized he didn’t know what he’d do if she’d’ve not been there. Tear the island apart, most like, he thought.

In this fantastical prison, he never expected to become attached to a child. Particularly when most of the children here aimed to kill him. Jas. leaned against the wall, watching the rise and fall of her chest. Who is your mother, he wondered. Wendy’d grown too old long before he became captain, so that ruled her out. A daughter, or even grand daughter perhaps? The poor blighter had no idea of the curse she’d bear once she was old enough. Pan would force her to grow up, because the Lost Boys needed a mother, and their hidey hole needed tidying. For a boy who hated mothers as much as he did, Pan was awfully insistent on having one around.

Jas. stroked the dark, wispy hair on the leech’s crown. She didn’t deserve that sort of childhood. If he couldn’t figure out a way to get her back home, then he’d do his damnedest to ensure Pan wouldn’t sully her childhood. A pirate ship wasn’t the ideal place for a child to live, but it was a great deal safer than with a group of feral boys, and their bloodthirsty master.

Seeking fresh air, he found Murphy on deck. The master gunner had drawn the short straw for second watch, the crew’s least favorite. Time seemed to crawl at it’s slowest during those hours. Bill was up in the crows nest, and whistled at him in acknowledgement. The wiry man came down only to take the proffered cigarillo and coffee; a treat to hasten the clock.

Of the crew, Bill was the least sociable. The man had a terrible stutter, and hid it by simply not speaking. Jas.’d initially taken his standoffishness as rude, until Bill showed up in his cabin one morning with a hand sewn sling. “F-f-f-or the b-b-b- kid,” he’d said in a voice barely above a whisper. Having heard he’d struggled with holding her, Bill’d made the sling to free up his hand and hook. It certainly made feeding her on the go much easier, and didn’t leave him feeling trapped on the ship when they anchored near the outer islands.

Sharing a smoke, he and Murphy enjoyed the chilly night air. It bit through the thin, silky linen of his shirt, and caused goose pimples to spread down his arms. As rocky as the experience of caring for an infant had been, not all of the side effects were entirely unpleasant. Up until recently he’d never liked having his breasts touched, since they were a stark reminder of his otherness; but now, the sensation of the cold air, and fabric brushing against his nipples went straight to his groin.

His arm pressed against Murphy’s, as he leaned against the man in search of warmth. “Once your shift is over, would you care for a visit?”

Murphy’s heavy mustache lifted in a smile, “you know I’d never say no to you, Jezza.”

Jas. knew quite well. Though Smee lacked a spine, the bosun knew when to dig in his heels on a matter. Murphy, however, catered to his every desire. In the beginning, he’d been suspicious, and rightly so. His predecessor had toed the edge of mutiny and assassination. It’d gotten to the point where he’d tasked Smee’s namesake with taste testing all of his food and drink. Until he’d won the crew’s loyalty, Jas. too, worried about the prospect of a knife in the back.

No, he had nothing to fear from the master gunner. He’d caught how the man looked at him when he thought he wasn’t paying attention. It was love at worst, lust at best. No matter which, they both benefited him greatly, and he did enjoy the man’s company. Murphy provided the physical aspect of a relationship that he craved. Murphy’d do what Smee was too timid to try.

With the second moon reaching the eastern horizon, the shift change would be occurring soon. He was restless in his cabin, and loath to do more than sit or pace. The leech was sleeping soundly, and he didn’t wish to wake her early. It’d mean feeding her, sitting up with her, and soothing her back to sleep. Those were things that would dampen the mood he was in, and he desperately wanted to be plowed into oblivion.

Their window was short. Jas. was on Murphy the moment he carefully shut the door. “Fuck me hard, and make it quick.” He said against his mouth, nearly bumping their teeth together. He’d hardly time to unbutton his britches before Murphy bent him over the back of the chaise.

Murphy’s strong hand was around his neck, thumb pressed behind his jaw, to angle his head so he could look at him. His breath was hot against his cheek, and the kerchief in his mouth was wet. The master gunner had pushed the cloth between his teeth to muffle him, knowing Jas. often lost himself to sensation.

Jas. was glad of it when he inevitably started groaning. Murphy took his hand from his neck, and twisted Jas.’s dark curls around his fist, pulling his head back like a horse being reined in. The sound of Murphy’s hips meeting his bony arse pooled hot in his belly.

Leaning down, Murphy hooked an arm beneath his breasts. With his mouth against Jas.’s ear, he ordered him to touch himself. Only in these moments was Murphy confident enough to command the captain to do anything. Jas. could be shockingly submissive when he had a mind to, and this morning he was more than willing.

His fingers slipped between himself and the velvet chaise cushion. He was wet enough that it made stroking himself difficult. So he ground his hips against his fingers and the chaise, timing it with Murphy’s thrusts, so he could meet him, deepen it.

The hand in his hair, tugged at the reins until his back bowed. Murphy bit down on his shoulder to stifle his groan as he came. A few shallow thrusts rocked Jas. against the velvet, before he pulled out, leaving him empty and wanting.

He whined into the kerchief, and exhaled sharply through his nose as Murphy’s fingers replaced his cock. The sound of it drove him over the edge. Wet, sloppy, and deliciously lewd. Jas. spat the kerchief out so he could catch his breath.

“Alright, there, Jezza?” Murphy’s voice was soft as he released his hair, and stroked his crown in an attempt to smooth it back into place.

Jas. hummed contentedly, basking in the attention and affection. He let Murphy pull him towards the bed, and watched as he fetched a damp cloth from the vanity basin. The water was cool against his inner thighs, and Murphy’s touch gentle. Gentle but not timid. Murphy was never timid.

Under most circumstances, he’d’ve ordered a bath be drawn. His hair was still damp with sweat, but that could wait. His pillows were far too comfortable, and Murphy’s body was warm. With the leech still asleep, he might be able to shut his eyes for a few moments more. “Stay,” he ordered the master gunner, when he made to get up, to let his captain rest.

He heard the words Murphy murmured against his brow. Had Jas. been anyone else, he’d return the sentiment. He’d whisper them against his lips, and know they were true. For as long as he bears this name, he couldn’t let himself trust those words. So he closed his eyes, and kissed Murphy’s neck.

Jas. couldn’t allow himself love here, and having the leech so dependent on him was dangerous enough. Love was reserved solely for Pan, and thus Hook was the villain, for he couldn’t love a monster.


	4. Chapter 4

The pre-dawn hours were Murphy’s favorite, when the mainland was still dark on the horizon, and the sky was just starting to gray. He often took third shift, being the only one on board brave enough to voluntarily wake the captain.

The cabin is usually quiet, since the babe was mostly sleeping more than five to six hours now. Occasionally she’d have a colicky night, but those were becoming few and far between. Pausing at the door confirmed that it was a good night for her, which meant a good morning for the captain.

Jas. had finally given her a name: Pippi. Though he still called her Leech, and Blighter, it was spoken in fondness on most days.

He eased the door open, wincing at the sharp creak that seemed amplified by the silence. “What happened to knocking?” Jas. asked. His voice was still a bit thick with sleep, but he was sitting up in bed.

Murphy shrugged, “didn’t think you’d be up yet, Jezza.”

“Mm, what a way to admit that you also watch me while I sleep.”

Murphy caught the way the corner of his lip turned up in a near imperceptible smile. As he crossed the room to join Jas. on the bed, he caught sight of Pippi’s dark head resting in the crook of his arm. Barring an attack or storm, she was the only one with the power to rouse the captain before the sun rose.

He stretched out at the foot of the bed, enjoying the softness of the plush mattress, silken sheets and faded velvet quilt. Jas. shifted, careful not to jostle Pippi, so he could wedge his feet beneath Murphy’s body.

Beside the captain was a book, open, and face down on the pillow at his elbow. His hair, which he usually braided at night, was partially unraveled, and stuck out at odd angles. An unlit cigarillo hung from his lips, and bobbed when he asked Murphy to strike a match for him.

Taking a long drag, he angled his head away from Pippi, and exhaled with a contented sigh. “The plan still stands?”

“Aye. Bill’s knees aren’t hurting, so it’s fair weather today, unless the lad has a mood swing. We’ll raise anchor after breakfast, and get moving before the sun rises over Neverpeak. Do you intend to go with the men?”

Jas. nodded with a “mmhm,” as smoke curled from his nostrils. “I’d like to stretch my legs a bit, and get this little blighter some time in the sand. I think she’d enjoy it.”

“It’s a fair bit safer than turning her loose on deck for the birds to snatch.” Murphy reached over and stroked a finger over the chubby, tan arm that gripped a loose lock of the captain’s hair.

Once Pippi’d had enough, he offered to walk her around, so Jas. could finish his smoke. As he paced from the door to the bed, Jas. moved to the balcony to enjoy the chilly morning air. Murphy stole glances when he could, trying not to be obvious with his staring. The captain was, in his opinion, the most beautiful like this. Before he got all trussed up in finery, and made presentable. He loved seeing him in the moments he didn’t have to play his role.

Being milk drunk, Pippi fell asleep quickly. He knew it wouldn’t be a long nap, since she’d be right back up once the first rays of light hit the window. So he planned to use his short time wisely.

His request drew a sleepy eyed smile, and Jas. stubbed the cigarillo out on the railing. The kiss tasted like smoke, and faintly of water weak rum and lime. “Just take it slow,” he said against Murphy’s mouth. “I’m still recovering from yesterday.”

He chuckled, “I bet you are.” He leaned down to leave a fresh mark on the captain’s neck, drawing out a lovely groan. “You were such a sight, choking on my cock.”

It began lazy. Jas. wasn’t in the mood for putting much effort, so he lay on his back, propped up by the mountainous array of pillows on the bed. His long, slender legs were hooked around Murphy’s hips. He reveled in how the captain looked beneath him, lithe and gorgeous. He reached down, sliding two fingers alongside his cock, as Jas. hissed and arched his back.

Leaning forward, Murphy snared a nipple between his teeth. Prior, Jas. would’ve shoved him away, and that would’ve been the end of it. Having his shirt off, or his robe open was something he'd hated. Murphy never understood why he was so self conscious, until Jas.’d explained it in terms he could sort of understand. Now, however, Jas. groaned and tugged at his hair. Murphy loved how he felt under his tongue. The taste, however, left something to be desired. That babe must have an iron stomach.

Afterwards, with the captain draped over him in the twilight between awake and asleep, Murphy asked why he’d chosen the name “Pippi”.

He explained that Pippi was the name of a girl, from a series of books he’d read as a child. “She was raised by pirates,” he said, and propped his chin on his forearm. “It seemed rather appropriate.”

“Were they good stories?” He asked, hopeful of new tales. Jas. was always a good storyteller. He couldn’t do voices like Secco, but he knew how to weave gripping plots. Though his favorites were eerie mysteries which made the gears in your head spin as you tried to piece all the clues together.

He saw Jas.’s brows furrow as his eyes became distant. “I remember enjoying them. I’d prop blankets up between the television and the couch, and read them by flashlight.”

Murphy knew better than to press him further. It depressed the captain to try and fish for memories of who he was prior to taking the mantle of Hook. He brushed his knuckles along Jas.’s jaw, feeling the sandpaper scratch of stubble.

  
He left the cabin before the sky turned pink, and passed the bosun on his way below deck. His “g’morning,” went unanswered as the sly little voyeur slipped past.

Smee bothered Murphy for reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d never intentionally sew discord on the ship, as that would put them at too great of risk. So he kept his thoughts tucked away, for now. Jas. could handle himself, and the bespectacled fellow couldn’t lie to the captain. No one could.

It was near noon by the time they dropped anchor off the coast of Snow Drift Isle, named for its powdery white sands. Jas. wore a light coat of inky blue, and a peacock blouse beneath. Colors that’d not show leaks easily. Pippi was strapped to his front with the newest sling Bill’d sewn: Bold crimson, with gold embroidery. His best work to date; repurposed from the old captain’s coat, and Jas.’s personal favorite.

Smee was busy chasing after the captain, trying to finish tying his hair up in a loose chignon. The day was balmy, and work was to be done. Leaving it down would be a hindrance, and a tempting object for Pippi’s grasping hands.

Away from the mainland, Jas. wasn’t afraid to help the crew work. Though it certainly wasn't an equal share, as he hated sweating. However, he’d offload the babe to whoever required a sit down, and take his place. Murphy couldn’t help but appreciate the view: shovel in hand, coat and hat off, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and loose curls clinging to his sun reddened neck.

When Murphy had hold of Pippi, he bounced her about, drawing forth laughter. She’d only recently began laughing, babbling, and cooing. Her neck was getting stronger, and he figured she’d be near to crawling soon; or she would once she figured out how to roll over all the way.

The sun was setting by the time they hoisted the crate from the sand. It’d been a little off the mark, but they’d found it: A stash of iron daggers, and a fine rapier, with a large sapphire set in the pommel.  
  
The crew divvied out the small blades, and Jas. rightly claimed the delicate looking sword. The rest: gold, jewels, bits and baubles, were left in the chest. It was to be brought on board and left in storage, after the captain combed through for anything that struck his fancy. He’d already taken a necklace. A rectangular pendant with intricate filigree, on a delicate chain. It hung right above the valley of his breasts, and glittered in the remaining sunlight.

As they settled down, waiting for the fish to finish frying, Murphy realized the captain wasn’t near the fire. Bill calmed his initial panic, saying Jas. went to feed Pippi near the beach.  
  
Not wanting to have eyes off the captain for any length of time, especially away from the safety of the ship, Murphy sought him out. He assured Bill it was just to keep watch, so none of Pan’s lads could sneak up on the captain unawares. They'd been attacked recently, and retaliation for their defense was only a matter of when, rather than if.

He heard Jas. before he saw him. Pippi’s bubbling laughter was followed by the captain’s serpent soft voice. Not wanting to interrupt the scene before him, Murphy lingered in the brush. He’d never seen Jas. like this. Pippi was sitting between his legs in the sand. The hook lay at his side, so he could steady her with the arm, while leaving his good hand free.

The smile on his face was so genuine and warm. Murphy’d seen such a smile once before, just a flicker of it, one morning when they woke up together. It was the smile that made him fall so hard for the captain. His Jezza.

He leaned against the palm and watched the him play with the babe. Other than the hours well after the second moon set, when inhibitions were forgotten, he’d never seen him this unrestrained.

Pippi briefly became upset after getting a mouthful of sand. However, Jas.’s raspy laugh, and “well, what were you expecting” calmed her quick enough. He wiped the grit from her chin with the hem of his blouse, and bent down to press a kiss to her crown.

It was then Murphy stepped out onto the beach. He wasn’t about to push his luck. Not to mention, the idea of watching the captain, like Smee was wont to do, didn’t settle well with him. Jas.'s posture straightened immediately, but relaxed once he saw it was only him.

“Just making sure the faeries hadn’t spirited you off,” Murphy said, and sat beside him.

Jas.’s skin was still warm from working in the sun. The bridge of his long nose was red, destined to peel, then freckle over the coming days. “They haven’t wanted to be rid of me yet.” He leaned against Murphy’s shoulder as Pippi wriggled about.

Murphy reached down, scooped up a trench in the sand, and covered the girl’s feet. He felt Jas. chuckle as Pippi’s brown eyes widened, and stared at the spot where her toes poked through. Her uncoordinated hands tried to grasp at them. She made an astonished noise, and Jas. responded with a “really, now? Tell me more about it.”

Quiet moments were never destined to last, not here. Little boys hated quiet, when time moved slow, and books called out to be read. 

Jas. expected an attack, but not this quick, and not here. The boys tended to stay close to the mainland, and rarely ventured to the outer islands. It was rare that even the older boys ventured this far, where the seas were less forgiving, and the beasts far nastier.

Something hit him in the arm. Thinking it a faerie bite, he went to swat at it with the end of his arm, only to strike the shaft of an arrow. The second hit the sand next to his thigh, sending white grains across his trousers, and peppering Pippi. Instinctively he leaned over the girl, and hissed to Murphy: “Take her to the boat, they’re wanting me.”

Realization dawned over the man’s face, and he scooped the babe up. Jas. watched him run as he grabbed his hook. The prosthetic slid on easily, and he pulled the buckles taut. In the distance he saw Murphy look over his shoulder. 

He’ll be fine. Unless Pan was here, which he doubted as the lad couldn’t lay quiet for long, his life wasn’t at risk. His death was for Pan’s blade only, but that didn’t mean the others couldn’t have a bit of fun. Jas.’s chief concern was Pippi and his crew. He wasn’t sure how many of the pelt clad boys there were, and if they knew where the camp was.

The third arrow hit him above the knee as he went to stand. The leg gave way, but he caught himself before he stumbled forward. It was strange seeing his own blood here. While his men bled crimson, the color he remembered before Neverland, his own was as dark as blackberry juice. It soaked the front of his trousers, and trickled down his bare shin. 

All those months running, suffering injuries from arrows and slings, would end today. He knew their tactics now, of which there were none. The boys simply charged, and let loose a volley of arrows or stones willy nilly. They had no formation, and without Pan, no order. They were little boys play fighting with sharpened daggers and barbed arrows.

Still, he lurched towards the jungle. As he predicted, they gave chase, shouting after him. 

“Cod fish!” 

“Coward!”

The dense brush would slow arrows and stones, but not quick feet and small frames. Certainly they’d catch up with him, but he wouldn’t become a pin cushion in the pursuit. It gave him enough time to make sure the hook was secure, and put some distance between them and the camp. 

The end of a bow struck him behind the knee, and he fell forward, unable to catch himself in time. The arrow shaft in his thigh snapped when he landed, and he felt the arrow tip strike the bone. He bit back the cry of pain, forcing it back down his throat before it could slip past his teeth. They weren’t going to have that satisfaction. 

Cushioned paws came to a halt. He got his feet under him, but kept his back turned so they couldn’t see him reach for the rapier at his belt. The new blade was light in his hand, and felt as natural as an extension of his arm.

As quiet steps crept bravely forward, he waited until they were close enough that he heard the lad’s congested breathing. As he whirled around, he lashed out with the blade, and caught the little wolf in the throat. The fine point of the sword pierced the tender skin like paper, and he saw the shock in those big blue eyes. 

The fight was a blur. Though it was an unfair match of eight to one, he gained the upper hand quickly. His world was a rush of color, with red the dominant shade. A stone struck him above his left eye, and the blood blinded him. By the time Murphy, Naveed, and Starkey pushed through the branches, six lay at his feet: Four by sword, and two by his hook. He pointed west with the tip of the rapier, “three. Let none live to tell their master.”

Only Murphy hesitated. “That’s an order,” he barked, and limped past. He couldn’t show weakness, not here, and not now. There may be small eyes watching, hidden in the leaves. Until they discovered how the boys got to Snow Drift, they must act under the assumption that faeries were nearby. 

As much as he wanted to join the pursuit, to gut the boy who threw the stone from toe to tip, he’d only slow them down. In stead, he hobbled to the beach. The fish were black and hard, the sand tossed up, and the long boat overturned. Despite being muffled by the wood, Pippi’s wails cut over the wind and surf. 

Bill had taken cover beneath the boat, and holstered his pistol when he saw the captain emerge from the trees. The crying rattled his tender skull, and he took the girl in his arms, hoping the closeness would console her. 

It didn’t, but Pippi soon tired herself out, much to his relief. Her fat cheek was dark with dried blood as she rooted against his neck. He was afraid to sit, to rest. The thrill of battle ran out of him, until it oozed as sluggish as the blood from his temple and thigh. If he sat, his eyes wouldn’t reopen. They were heavy now, and he fought against the tiredness that tried to drag him to the sand. 

Before the second moon reached the horizon, three shots rang out in the jungle. Three boys fell before they reached their rafts. 

Over the following days the watch was doubled. They anchored the Jolly Roger in Crescent Bay, on the very edge of the outer ring. The moon shaped island offered them a degree of safety, and the clear waters meant no surprises could come up from below. 

There were no victory celebrations, though Jas. allowed an extra ration of grog as a reward for quick action. His crew suffered no injury, save for Starkey losing a few teeth from a stone to the mouth. His own injuries were healing. The limp he could hide when he needed to be on deck. However, his shoulder was stiff, making holding Pippi difficult. 

In the mirror, he gingerly poked at the bruise above his brow. The swelling had gone down considerably, but he was still sporting a black eye. In the reflection Smee was setting the table for an early lunch. The odor of fried fish turned his stomach, but he needed to eat.

“Leave it be, Cap’n.” Smee cautioned, after pouring a cup of minty tea. 

He stepped up behind Jas. and pulled his hair back. Nimble, nervous fingers combed out the worst of the tangles without ruining the curl. He watched Smee’s face in the glass, while he wound the hair up in a knot. It was pinned in place, and fluffed out to give it more volume. “You’ve dealt with Pan before, yes?”

“Aye, sir.”

“What do you expect he’ll do with so many of his followers dead?”

Smee paused, and Jas. watched his eyes dart this way and that; yet always coming back to his exposed neck. “I suspect he’ll be getting ready to go to war.”

That’s what he theorized as well. Hearing it aloud, however, made that dread in the pit of his stomach grow larger. Had he not taken in that little blighter, he may have been thrilled at the prospect. Oh, to be rid of that accursed little creature who styled himself chief of Neverland. Above all else, the role of pa’mère came first, as loath as he was to admit it. A war would put Pippi at a far greater risk than he was willing to allow. 

His crew was limited, and Pan’s army was infinite. Children were always being born in the world, and time acted strangely here. A day here could be as short as a second there, or as long as a year. He needed Pan to make another mistake. Bringing Pippi was his first. She gave Jas. something to fight for, something to lose. The island changed his face; took his past, and jumbled it up like a disjointed dream. He had no home to go back to, no family he could recall beyond faint outlines and blurred features. Pippi still had time to go back, to grow up.

“Fetch Bill for me.”

That evening he sent the man off on a dinghy, with enough gunpowder to last a few weeks. Bill was the quietest, and the most patient of the lot. His eyes were sharp, and he could scurry up a tree like a squirrel. “Find their hideout, Mr. Dukes. Find it, or find something that’ll hit’em where it hurts.”

Over the following days, the bruise faded into an ugly yellow-green, and everyone was on edge. Only Pippi, who’s desires were simple, carried on as if a threat didn’t loom over the masts. Her momentous occasion of rolling over on her own, was met with only half-hearted, though genuine “good form, my lovely,” from Jas..

He lay in bed, letting the remaining aches dull until they were nothing more than an annoying stiffness. The girl could roll this way and that, and push herself to a small degree, though not always in the direction she intended. 

Murphy and Smee checked on the two of them at regular intervals, though never together. A shame, he thought, he’d wanted them both. He wanted to be pressed between them, lavished with attention, and fucked until he felt boneless. 

When the bosun brought his evening tea and biscuits, he said as much, and hid his smile by lifting the cup to his lips. The fellow’s ears reddened, but the idea was planted. It’d stew for a bit while Smee weighed the option of ignoring it to merely fantasize, or act on it. He’d done the former more than the latter as of late, which was troublesome for his own desires. 

There could only be so much planning, so much strategizing, and preparing. For just a moment he wanted to not think. To not worry. To not be a pa’mère, or a captain. He just wanted to be. 

Jas. sighed, his fingers itching to grab a cigarillo, but he’d limited himself to only two a day. Outside the window, beyond the balcony, he watched the stars begin waking up one by one. Murphy was on watch, and Smee was below, taking inventory. Tonight it would just be him and Pippi. Not entirely lonely, but not what he wanted. 

To combat the craving, he considered letting his fingers be occupied elsewhere. No, he thought, it’d only remind him of what he could have. 

His eyes drifted to the tin sitting on the vanity. Just one extra cigarillo wouldn’t hurt. The night was cool, and his bones ached. A smoke would be better than a drink or two. It’d ease his nerves, and drive away any curious faeries. They hated the stench of tobacco. 

Dousing the lamps, he brought the bassinet with him, as he settled on the chaise to enjoy the night sky. Lounging back, he rocked Pippi with his foot. The smoke curled out of his mouth, taking with it the worst of his worries. They’d find him again, but not for a while.

Forgotten on the serving table, his tea went cold. The rocking slowed, occasionally stopping entirely, until he jerked awake. Not wanting to burn his fingers, or the velvet cushions any more than they had been, he dropped the butt into the cup. 

He should get in bed, but the chaise was nearly as comfortable. The stars swam while sleep weighed heavy on his eyelids. “Sweet dreams, my little leech,” he murmured. 


	5. Chapter 5

Neverland, while resisting change just as fiercely as Pan, did, in fact change. The boy hadn’t been seen in a few days, and from the safety of the Jolly Roger, the crew watched as the leaves began turning. The lush jungle became as vibrant as the sunset, and the wind turned chilly. A week gone, and those leaves began to fall, poking holes in the thick underbrush, making it difficult for those left behind to remain hidden.

Around him, Hook’s crew seemed to change with the leaves, as those days stretched into months. Smee’s hairline receded like the tide, and his eyesight worsened until he had ledgers held up to his nose. The grays in Murphy’s hair crept further and further from his temple. Jas. noticed lines, grays, shedding hairs on everyone but himself. Each morning his appearance remained the same, the handful of grays that he came to the island with hadn’t spread, the lines at the corners of his eyes hadn’t deepened. Only the worried furrow between his brows was new.

Pippi, too, decided it was high time to start growing up. It felt as though Jas. had only turned his back, and she was crawling. He blinked, and she’d said her first word. He woke one morning, and a mass of springy black curls filled his mouth when he lifted her from the crib. At least it put his mind at ease that she was free from whatever kept Pan and himself in stasis. 

Weaning was now something he had to consider. They were slowly introducing new foods. A few bites twice a day, to let her get used to different flavors and textures. Mashed bananas she took to immediately, but scrunched up her face at most of the offerings. It forced Jas. to keep bananas on the ship. A crate was stored on the top deck, beneath the stairs, to prevent the loathsome fruit from spoiling the other perishables. 

The reluctance to wean her caught him by surprise. He found that he missed those quiet moments with just the two of them. However, the afternoon that she accidentally bit him with those newly erupting teeth, helped ease him into the idea. Now that she was getting supplemental food, she was only allowed to feed for breakfast, prior to her afternoon nap, and before bed. These were the hours where she was least rambunctious, less likely to try and watch what he was doing while feeding. At least, he thought with relief, she’s old enough to understand the words “no”, and “stop that”. They were her least favorite. 

While the changes were novel, he couldn’t allow anyone to be distracted by them. The length of time since they last saw Pan, or any of the remaining Lost Boys, troubled him. The typically unflappable Murphy even voiced concern when he caught his reflection on Jas.’s vanity. “The lad’s never been gone this long,” he’d said in a tone that twisted a knot of worry in Jas.’s gut.

The older boys they saw frequently now. With the island in the midst of late autumn, foraging was difficult, and it was commonplace to see a canoe paddling out to meet them. They traded supplies from the mainland for salted fish, jerky, and occasionally a freshly plucked neverbird. Their desperation outweighed any fear they still had of Hook. 

Still, the only boy brave enough to step aboard was Too Slow. The rest would wait in the canoe, nervously glancing up and around, fearing an attack from all sides. Too Slow had grown nearly a hand since bringing Pippi to them, and the peach fuzz on his chin was starting to look more like the beginnings of a beard. 

Being too young to remember the kindhearted former Lost Boy, Pippi hid her face in Jas.’s coat. However, by his third visit, she was brave enough to peek at him when he said “hello”. By the forth, she only ducked her head once, before curiosity won over. 

When the snows began to fall, the sea slowly started icing over. Soon, they were barred from the mainland by an impenetrable sheet. Not wanting to risk being stranded, Jas. ordered them to anchor off the shores of Quiet Refuge. It was one of the larger outer islands, and the frost hadn’t yet snuffed out all the green. Stubborn grasses still poked through the snow. 

Once the ice locked them in place, it was safe enough to simply walk to shore. Quiet Refuge was home to a colony of neverbirds. Eggs and meat were easy to come by, if they were mindful of taking only what they needed. 

Jas. found he enjoyed the cold. He would wake up, and step onto the frigid balcony to let the icy wind snatch the sleep from his eyes, and clear the fog from his brain. 

Pippi’s babbling pulled him from the railing. He flicked the cigarillo onto the frozen sea below, and quickly warmed his hand and wrist over the foot stove before going to her. “What are you going on about so early?” He asked, scooping her up into his arms. 

Her hands, now more coordinated, but still clumsy, tugged at his robe. “Alright, _alright_ , give me a moment to sit down, you greedy little blighter. Now, what do we say?”

He watched the gears turn in her little head. Eventually, she said “please”, or what sounded close enough to the word to be satisfactory. Certain sounds had proved difficult, but she’d made valiant efforts. Murphy was “a’da”, and Jas. was “pa’ma”. She liked the sound of “Smee” far too much to give him any other name, though she often left out the ’s’. 

Being too early for his own breakfast, he slipped back into bed, and pulled the blankets around his waist. Propped up against the pillows, he fished for the book that he’d fallen asleep to. Pippi made a disgruntled sound when he leaned over, finally snaring his prize from between a velvet bolster and a silk pillow. “You have no room to give me any fuss,” he said, resting the book on what originally was meant to be a floor cushion. 

As the sky lightened to a dreary gray, he heard the crew stirring. They were all sluggish in the cold, and he didn’t fault them. It wouldn’t be fair to bark orders from his warm cabin. So long as their duties were completed, and those on watch didn’t let their minds wander, he let them take shorter shifts to retreat to the warmer hull. 

Smee pushed the door open with an elbow, bearing a tray who’s steam fogged his glasses. “Good morning, Captain.” 

In stead of waiting for Pippi to finish, the tray was brought to the bed. “It’s too nippy to be chilling your feet on the floor, sir.” 

While the bosun busied himself with wiping the melted snow from the floor near the balcony, Jas. absentmindedly ate. His eyes lingered on the ropey forearms, as Smee dusted the stained glass. It’d been a while. Too long a while for his liking, but planning and preparation had gotten in the way. “Smee?” 

“Yes, sir?” There was that nervous lilt to his voice, as if he’d been caught doing something. The one that drew Jas. in like a shark to blood.

“I’m in a mood.” The man’s look of intrigue soon faded when Jas. mentioned including Murphy. It’d been so long since he’d luxuriated in their shared attention. With the weather so cold, the idea of being pressed between two warm bodies was greatly appealing.

Smee hesitantly said he’d ask Murphy, after collecting the tray from the bed. The way his eyes darted anywhere but Jas.’s face, let him know that it was said only to placate him. 

He sighed as the door closed, and looked down at Pippi. She was in the twilight between awake and asleep, still latched, but too tired to make an effort. However, she was just awake enough that moving would rouse her fully. So he was trapped until she made up her mind.

There was something brewing between the bosun and the master gunner, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. Jealousy perhaps? Murphy didn’t seem the type, but Smee had a streak in him that’d give rise to it. He’d noticed how Smee pointedly ignored any greetings Murphy directed his way, though he said nothing. It wouldn’t do them any good if he’d read too far into something as innocent as Smee’d been distracted, or simply didn’t hear him.

Once Pippi turned loose, he carefully tucked her back into the crib. He was grateful of these dreary, snowy days. She slept in longer, and was satisfied to simply cuddle next to him rather than crawl about on the cold floors. Occasionally her pent up energy bubbled over into frustrated temper tantrums, but those were rare. She’d learned they weren’t tolerated, and that she’d be handed off to one of the crew. 

He paced, unable to be still. I could find Murphy, he thought, but decided against it. If it was jealousy forming a wedge between them, then that would likely make things worse. Eventually he’d have to get the two of them in a room, and sort it out before it erupted into something nasty. That was something he couldn’t afford; not now, not with the threat of war looming over them all.

Forgetting the limit he’d set for himself, Jas. struck up a match and lit another cigarillo. The hope that the act of smoking would curb the irritability was quashed. In stead, he found himself fantasizing; longing to be fucked, stretched, and grabbed; to be left boneless and sweating. He wanted to fall asleep knowing he’d have aches where fingers pressed into his skin, or teeth bit a little too deeply.

He stubbed out the half smoked cigarillo, and opened a window long enough to fan out the worst of the smoke. Flopping on the chaise, he stared up at the ceiling with it’s faded gold filigree. If he squinted just right, he could almost make out the faint shape of a sea serpent. It was selfish, and almost childish, his desire for attention. He knew it. Just as he knew pouting about it would do him no good. 

Outside, the sunlight was hazy. The gray light was distorted by the thick stained glass. Fog had blanketed the island, and surrounding ice. It gave him a sense of safety. A false sense, to be sure, but just enough that he felt he could relax for a moment.

Though the windows were shut, the chill in the room still raised goose pimples across his arms as he untied the robe’s belt. When the thick velvet fell to the side, he couldn’t suppress the sudden shiver. On days like this, it seemed as if he might be able to pull his memories to the surface. When he looked at his body, he almost remembered that he wasn’t the same. The hair wasn’t right, the legs looked too long, the feet too big. When he’d look in the mirror, he’d see a nose too hawkish, a mustache too full, teeth too horse-like. His eyes, though, they’d never changed. 

Each cast line could pull forth memories of technology, or stories. He could recall television shows, movies, books; but not the voices of his parents. Try as he might, faces and names of family and friends refused to be caught. He looked at the scarred stump at the end of his arm. Would he have anything to return to? Had his apartment been sold? Had his belongings been plundered? Or had his family come to collect the contents? Hell’s Teeth, he hoped not. 

It reminded him of how much he missed the luxury of having a box of toys beneath his bed. Plugs of all shapes, clamps that could chain together, or have weights attached. Oh, he’d enjoyed those immensely. His left hand flexes. The nails needed trimming, at least the ones that mattered. 

They weren’t too long yet. He slipped his fingers between his thighs, and closed his eyes. How he longed for a second hand, to grip and caress what one couldn’t. Those fantasies that plagued him earlier dance behind his lids, pushing him over with haste: Murphy’s strong, calloused hands hold him aloft; Smee timidly lay beneath, touching with all the hesitation of a cook without oven mitts. 

All of that frustration flowed out of him. He teased until he was oversensitive, stopping when he tried to grip his breast with a hand he no longer had. Blowing out a great, heaving sigh, he sat up. Thick strands threaded between his fingers like translucent fairy wings. It’d be far more appealing clinging to Murphy’s beard. To be able to taste himself when he bent down for a kiss. 

“Oh sod it all,” he muttered, noticing the damp spot that was rapidly cooling beneath him. The back of the robe was soaked through to the cushions. He left it where it lay, and went to find a dry cloth. 

While his fingers and imagination sated him in that moment, he was still alone in the cabin. Not entirely alone, he reminded himself. Pippi slept soundly in her crib, moving only to rub at her eye, before bringing her fist to her mouth. It was the restless sleep that let him know she’d be up soon, and that he should make sure the rice pudding was being reheated.

She was the reason he couldn’t afford to let himself sink into melancholy, no matter how alluring the siren's call was. He had to fight to keep his head above the surface. 

Jas. brushed the curls out of her face, and smiled. “We’ll find your mum, leech. But until then, can you let me pretend for a little longer?”

Before setting about dressing himself, he bent down and pressed a kiss to her brow.

It was only a short trek to get below deck, but the wind could find any gap, any threadbare patch, and wriggle in to set your teeth chattering. Jas. chose his heaviest, and least favorite coat. The black velvet caught every bit of lint and hair it could find, but it was warm. He looped a blue scarf around his neck to keep the black from exacerbating the circles beneath his eyes, or highlighting the wind burn that splashed an ugly red across his cheeks. A hat was likely to be snatched by the wind, so he left them to collect dust atop the wardrobe. 

At the door, he glanced back to the crib to make sure Pippi still slept. Even if it was for a few minutes, he still hated leaving her alone. However, waking her up early just to drag her out into the cold would be foolish. The windows are latched, he told himself, and then closed the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Mermaids were strange creatures. Helpful when it struck their fancy, or deadly when it didn’t. They would flee the instant the Jolly Roger came into view. Jas.’s predecessor, the one who held the name for less than a year, had a taste for mermaid flesh. He’d gotten it into his head that consuming it would impart power over the sea. 

It didn’t. Merflesh was actually quite toxic. Secco, a bit sheepishly, admitted to intentionally undercooking the meat. “Not that I’d ever do such a thing to you, Captain, Sir… But that fellow was a nasty piece of work.”

Never had he considered going to the mermaids for anything. They were too tolerant of Pan and the Lost Boys for his liking. However, Bill brought back news that a rumor had set the mainland abuzz, and he was curious about the recent ghost sightings that kept the Lost Boys in their beds at night.

He decided to take the opportunity as a chance to give Pippi some swimming lessons. He felt that if she could stay afloat for even the fewest of moments, then he wouldn’t fret so much when she crawled around the top deck. The little girl tumbling overboard was one of many nightmares that plagued him.

He knew they taught babies to swim in pools. He could vaguely recall a faceless little sister going through that, and how funny the look of shock on her face had been the first time she’d been dunked underwater.

With the Roger anchored just beyond the reef, they took a dinghy to the lagoon. Smee and Starkey remained in the boat, keeping watch for curious mermaids or sharks. They kept an old bit of sail stretched overhead to protect them from the morning sun. 

At first, he handed Pippi off to Murphy, who was taller, but she wailed and screamed as if she were about to be put into a boiling pot. So Jas. took her, letting her feet dangle in the warm water. Her fears were forgotten as she watched the colorful fish below the surface. She’d reach and splash, trying to grab at the ones who got near enough to try and nibble at toes. 

He used the distraction to quietly, and gently hand her off to Murphy. She didn’t notice until he’d gotten a few yards away. Her hands stretched out, grasping the air as she started calling out for her pa’ma. 

With the water just below his chest, he held out his arms. “Well, come on then.”

Murphy kept a hand just under her belly as she flailed. Eventually, she seemed to realize that it was not dissimilar to crawling. With all the grace of a puppy on linoleum, she paddled her way to him.   
He couldn’t help the grin that split his face, as he lifted her up in a twirl that had her shrieking with delight. “Good show, my leech!” 

From the dinghy, he heard Starkey cheer her on, and Smee’s polite clapping. Two more times she paddled a few yards, eager to be praised and spun in his arms. 

She was uncoordinated but could keep herself afloat for a short period of time. She’d not last in the open sea, but it gave him a small peace of mind to know she wouldn’t drown immediately in calm waters. Leaning back, he let her rest on his chest while he floated. Without the pack of feral children, or crocodiles, Neverland was the tropical paradise it pretended to be. If he closed his eyes, it was indistinguishable from the Caribbean resort where his family went on holiday once. He half expected to hear music in the distance, and smell overpriced seafood sizzling on outdoor grills. 

Why had they gone on that holiday? His family never had very much money, but they did live comfortably. Nothing beyond snorkeling, and his father shouting at him to mind his sister would come to the surface.

A cry of alarm shook him from the daydream of an old life, and he turned his head to see the flat eyes of a mermaid not three yards from him. He tightened his grip around Pippi, as he righted himself. The creature was a brilliant shade of red, not unlike a snapper. Those watery, strange eyes were focused on Pippi, though it wasn’t the gaze of a predator. He’d seen mermaids hunt, and its body wasn’t coiled to pounce. The fins were relaxed, and the arms simply hung beneath it, while the fingertips were nibbled by fish. 

This was what he’d hoped for. This was why they anchored the ship so far out. 

Mermaids couldn’t speak above the surface, so he passed Pippi to Murphy. With a glance over to where Starkey and Smee held their position, he sunk beneath the water. His own hair fanned out, mimicking the kelp-like tendrils that sprouted from the mermaid’s head like a halo.

“There’re rumors about you.” The mermaid snaked forward, coiling itself around him, but never within reach. “Everyone is up in arms about how the villainous Captain Hook snatched a baby from it's bassinet.” It’s flat face stopped, inches from his. Despite how the salt water blurred his vision, he could see the rows of sharp teeth as it smiled. “I had to see for myself, and that baby is far too plump, too happy to have been recently stolen. Now,” it looped around him again, growing bold, as he felt scales scrape along his leg. “I offer you a new rumor in exchange for something tasty. Something juicy, and sweet. Can you do that?”

There was movement behind it. Something else was hidden in the reef that shielded the lagoon from the open ocean. Except for the sick, or old, mermaids never ventured out alone. 

He gave a curt nod and rose up. It took everything not to gasp for air, and keep his breathing even and steady. Other than the flesh of those unfortunate drowned victims, there was something else that would drive a school of mermaids into a frenzy: Fruit. They coveted what they couldn’t have below the surface, and fruit was a delicacy. 

The mermaid circled him lazily. Its fingers grabbed at his clothes, tugging, examining, occasionally tasting, and then spitting out. He couldn’t react, he could flinch away or risk exciting it or it’s hidden companion. Jas. kept himself as still as he would around a bull shark. The creature was simply figuring him out in its own way. Mermaids weren’t exactly patient enough for polite conversation, so instead of asking, it poked, pulled, and nipped. 

From his periphery, he could see that Murphy had taken Pippi closer to shore. The knee deep water would make it difficult for the mermaid to try and reach them, if it’d a mind to turn on them. He clenched his jaw and held his tongue when he felt sharp teeth graze his chest so that it could investigate the necklaces that hung between his breasts. When its mouth snared the rectangular pendant, it violently spat it out, spraying him with salt water as the iron scalded it’s lips and tongue.

It retreated to circling out of arm’s reach, and sank to the floor when Starkey and Smee rowed back to him. A basket laden with various fruit rested between their feet. Jas. picked out a sprig of violet berries, and held it to the surface, drawing the mermaid to him. “I’ll give you this now, and the rest is your’s once your end of the trade is given.”

It swallowed the fruit, stem, pit, and all with a mouth far larger than it seemed. He sank back below, watching its blurred form undulate in front of him. 

“What’s to stop you from skewering me?”

He held out his arms showing he wasn’t wearing the prosthetic. The leather didn’t handle salt water well. A dagger was safely tucked out of sight in the folds of the sash tied around his waist. The mermaid had very likely felt it during its thorough examination. He knew he’d never be able to unsheathe it in time, if it attacked.

The mermaid made a clicking sound, clacking its teeth together and fanning out to appear much larger. When he seemed unfazed, it settled back, oblivious of how rapidly his heart pounded. “Very well. There’s a ghost rumored to be wandering the jungle. A woman in white, who calls out for a lost child. The faeries seem all a tizzy about it, and the soft little ones Pan keeps no longer sneak out at night.”

He resurfaced, “why would something I already know interest me?”

It’s strong hands wrapped around his waist, and it drug him back under. Above he could hear the muffled shouts as he stared at the mermaid’s human adjacent face. “Ghosts don’t leave tracks in the sand, nor do they make campfires. Now, Captain, it’s your turn to hold up your end.”

It shoved him back up, and he lurched forward as it’s tail pushed him towards the dinghy. It took everything in him to not show any sign of fear or anger. He took the bowl, and let it float on the surface.

The water around him suddenly churned in foam, and flashes of red, gold, and black. Two more mermaids, camouflaged in the coral, had joined in the feast. Jas. found himself caught in the middle, unable to get away from the lashing tails, and tangling fins. 

“Jezza!” He heard Murphy shout, but he only waved him away. The fruit would be made short work of. There’d be no point in riling them up. 

The eel-like mermaid, with it’s inky black scales, shot through with red, nearly knocked him over as it snaked between his legs. It’s long fingers grasped at a chunk of mango, and then sped off with it’s prize. 

The gold one, with a thicker body, and sharper fins, hung near the dinghy. It’s shining crown of lacy hair spread out around it as it’s head bobbed above the surface. It was checking for more treats hidden on the boat. 

Red fins brushed his calves. The mermaid beckoned him, and he dipped his head down. “Bring us more, and we’ll tell you where the ghost sleeps.”

“That’ll require taking inventory, m’dear. The health of my crew comes first, I’m afraid.” It splashed in frustration, and spat a line of water at him. “We’ll remain anchored here overnight. Any excess that can be spared, I’ll bring myself.”

  
After drying off, getting Pippi fed for the afternoon, and handed off, he sought out the men below deck. Smee’s brow was shining with sweat, despite only holding the ledger. It was stifling in the hull. He pushed the fellow’s glasses back up the bridge of his nose, as he came to stand alongside him. “Well?”

“We can spare one crate. With spring here, we can let it stretch a bit thin until the next supply run. But Captain?”

“Yes, Smee?”

“The bottom’s started fermenting. Should we throw it out, or save it for ourselves?”

He’d never seen drunk mermaids before, and the thought of loosening their tongues was appealing. “Leave it in. Naveed will have plenty left to brew up some mash, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

That, indeed, was what he was worried about. The crew thought themselves sly when he rationed out the rum, but he knew every goings-on on his ship. The mash was never strong enough to affect their work, so he let them have their little secret without fuss. 

As the crate was carried above deck to be loaded onto the dinghy, he snuck a kiss below the bosun’s ear. He could see the shiver, and his already red cheeks were blazing. “I’m expecting a warm welcome when I return, because I fear I’ll be getting soaked again.”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Both of you. It’s not an order, Mr. Smee, but whatever troubles you have with Mr. Murphy, they are to be left at the door.” He slid the curved edge of his hook between them, the folds of his coat keeping it hidden, as it grazed the outline of his cock. “I miss the two of you dearly,” he said, voice low, and face deceptively casual as he skimmed the ledger. “How long has it been?”

“Um.. Si-no, seven months and th-three days, sir.”

“Let’s not make it four, hmm?”

  
Like most plans in Neverland, things refused to unfold how he wanted them to. While he should’ve brought someone with him, the dinghy was too small, and the crate too heavy for an additional body. He’d left Pippi in Murphy’s care, placing a kiss on her brow. 

On the water, he felt alone. If he turned his head, he could see the dim lanterns on deck. The little pin points of orange light only made the night all the blacker. The clouds overhead blocked out the stars and moon, offering him no guidance. His own light, swinging from the bow of the dinghy, enhanced the paranoia that plagued his mind. Every splash was amplified, every drip, as he rowed out to the lagoon. 

The night air was warm, with a blessedly cool breeze. He’d not worn a coat, knowing he’d have to submerge his head at the least. As a precaution, he’d strapped on the prosthetic. He needed it to man the oars anyway, and the iron gave him a small peace of mind.

The dinghy rocked as something large thumped the bottom. To his right, flat eyes shone like silver coins in the dingy yellow light. It was the red one from before, who lifted itself up like a cobra. It peered into the bow, and upon seeing the laden crate, fell backward with a splash. Only ripples remained as his heart hammered against his breast.

Two more pairs of eyes, unblinking, glittered a short distance away. Deathly silent they swam forward, as the red one resurfaced. It was the gold and black. They tended to form small schools, anywhere from three to upwards of seven members. Only rarely did he see less or more than that. If any more were hiding nearby, they were likely too young to pose much of a threat.

The gold one had catfish whiskers, and finer hairs that decorated their chin like an anemone. That one had the false air of a wizened sea king. It was mimicry, he knew. Appear as something your prey desires, and they’ll step right up to your doorstep. Some want beautiful maidens, others seek council or to treat with sea witches.

Red snapper motioned for him to lean forward, and when he did, gold arms snatched him from the boat. His world went black, and he couldn’t make up from down. As calm as he wanted to remain around them, Jas. found himself struggling in a panic. 

“Easy now, Captain, we don’t intend on drowning you. Not yet, anyway. You’re useful, and we were grateful of that feast you left of those little lads. Pan doesn’t let us near them, but there’s no rules against eating ones already dead.” This voice purred behind his ear. The gold one. “The other captains liked killing on the land too much, but you, you draw them out, don’t you? They have to come to you.”

Another, the red, he recognized. “We promised to show you where the ghost camps, but your boat will be too slow. Too noisy. Too bright.”

Blindly he motioned at his throat, needing to breathe as the darkness took on a red tinge around the edges. He was lifted long enough to take a greedy gulp of air. 

It was strange. They moved, and quickly, but he was completely blind. Jas. was both elated and nauseated all at once. He’d never ridden a roller coaster in the dark, but he had been on one drunk, and this felt very similar. He just hoped this wouldn’t end with him vomiting on himself.

He could recall a laughing voice, a woman’s, and a hard thump on the back as he puked into his lap. “Oh man, we’re definitely buying that picture, Dorian.” Who was Dorian?

The mermaids never let him to the surface, but he felt cold lips engulf his when his lungs began to burn. The air they breathed into him tasted of carrion and salt water. While it did keep him alive, it made his head spin. 

Sick to his stomach, he came to a lurching halt. It was impossible to tell whether his own hair had swirled across his face, or if it was the mermaid’s. “Quietly now, Captain. Ghosts frighten easily.”

As they lifted him to the surface, he took a deep inhale through his nose. His vision was blurry, and swam has his muddled brain tried to right itself. Eventually, he could focus on a small glow on the shore, right at the edge of the jungle. Jas. blinked, trying to clear the salt water from his eyes. 

The glow solidified into a small campfire. What he initially assumed was a tiny tent, was an adult figure in a white nightgown and gray cardigan. An adult woman. She had her knees drawn to her chest, and moved only to toss more palm bark on the fire. The ghostly comparison was warranted, she was pale, and the nightgown certainly gave her an ethereal air about her. Her curly black hair looked as if it’d been teased, but the jungle humidity, and recent rains had ruined whatever style she’d put it in. 

An adult woman in Neverland. A mother, as Pan would call her. Her presence broke the ultimate rule Pan set for his kingdom; the one he toed the line by leaning not too far one way or the other. Curious, he thought. Rumors would always reach Pan’s ears, so why wasn’t he up in arms and ready to drive the woman away? Why were their no rumors of war?

He took in the shape of the beach, the nearby rocks that jutted out from the sea, forming inky patches of glittering blackness in an already dark sky. Pebble Beach. This was at the southern tip of The Teeth. If he waited until first light, they could drop anchor before the sun finished cresting over the mountains. He needed to learn how she’d gotten here, and if she knew the way back. She could be the way for Pippi to return to her true family. 

The thought suddenly pained him. He’d spent so long with the girl that the possibility of her not being on the ship, not constantly requiring attention, not smearing bananas all over herself and making his coats reek of them when she wiped her face on him, it left him feeling hollow inside.

“You look sad, Captain.” He heard a voice bubble from beneath the surface. “We didn’t think you were the sort to pine over a woman’s beauty.”

“I’m not,” he said softly. “It’s… It’s something I doubt you’d understand.”

“Perhaps. We could make you forget for a little bit.” His head was pulled back beneath the surface, slow enough that he was able to take in a lungful of air. 

  
Bill whistled down to Murphy, “l-lantern off the p-p… fuck. Left side!”

The master gunner found his captain wet, disheveled, missing both boots, and one stocking. His blouse was askew, hanging off his right shoulder. The only thing keeping it from slipped off was the sash, which was looped like an afterthought around the arm. He looked exhausted, and his voice was froggy as he told Murphy to help him over the railing. 

“What happened, Captain?”

“Later. Let me warm up first.”

He asked Bill if he’d be alright for the last hour of watch. When the fellow nodded, he slid an arm around the limp legged Jas. and helped him to the cabin. 

While Smee fussed over him, he drew a warm bath. Jas.’s fingers were like ice, and he had an unhealthy paleness about him. It made the imprints of rows and rows of sharp teeth all the more visible. 

Once he was stripped down, they both combed him over, checking for any broken skin. Mermaid bites were nasty and prone to turn septic if not treated quickly. Lucky for the captain, it seemed those mermaids were mindful of that. They’d only leave some ugly, and distinctive bruises.

For a while he didn’t speak, or couldn’t. Smee’s patient, insistent questioning, however, finally drew out some answers. He’d acquiesced to their advances, partly out of curiosity, but mostly to solidify an alliance. Jas. reasoned that if they viewed him as someone they can have some fun with, someone they can rely on for treats, they’d be far more inclined to lend aid. “To be an extra set of eyes and ears,” he croaked. “It’s only fair. Pan has the sky, so we should have the sea.”

His voice was wispy, and cracked often as he described the ghost on the shore: A solid, very alive apparition. 

“And you want to bring her aboard?”

“Sir?”

Jas. was dead weight in Murphy’s arms as he scrubbed the brine from his hair. 

Smee frowned, and tried again with a slightly louder “sir?” He sighed, “don’t you be cross with me,” he muttered under his breath before patting him on the cheek once, twice. When Jas. didn’t respond, he slapped him, and drew back as if he’d scalded himself.

It worked. Jas. jerked awake, sloshing soapy water across the floor and onto the rug. “Hell’s bells, what was that about?” He sputtered, too shocked and disoriented to find any indignant anger. 

“Shhh! Shh, captain. Pippi.” Smee glanced over his shoulder to the crib. “You need to stay awake, sir. Just for a little while longer.”

The “why” was petulant, and went ignored. He was too tired to really argue the matter, and would likely forget the offense by morning. At least they hoped.

“We need your orders,” Smee said, keeping his voice calm and even. Though Murphy could see the rigid posture, ready to spring out of the way at any moment. “In case you need more rest.” 

“I’ll be fine, Smee.”

“I’m sure you will, but Pippi’ll need feeding soon, and we’ll be needing orders. I know how much you don’t like doing both at once.”

Drying him off seemed to invigorate him, at least long enough to be coherent. The orders were to raise anchor at dawn, find the woman, and bring her to the ship, unharmed. “There’s to be no rough handling, and no wandering hands. She’s a guest, and the men should treat her with as much respect as they do me.”

Afterward Jas. slept like the dead. It was a deep, unmoving sleep. Smee checked his breathing twice with a hand mirror, then fussed about the room, unable to be still. Murphy watched him rearrange the desk twice over. 

When dawn began to lighten the windows, Smee looked at Murphy. He could see the small fellow’s gears turning. “Would you stay with him?” He asked as if the suggestion pained him to say aloud.

It surprised Murphy, but he nodded. “Aye. Someone’s got to make sure he’s up for Pippi’s breakfast.”

“And I’d rather it be someone who hasn’t struck him.”

Murphy chuckled. “Go on then.”

Outside he could hear rain begin pattering the windows. It wasn’t the light drizzle of a morning shower. These were heavy, determined drops. They’d better get moving, and soon, before the worst of it hit. 

  
High winds rocked the Jolly Roger, while rain and hail pelted the windows and deck. Jas. dreamed of dark water, whispered voices, and scale bodies wrapped around him, dragging him further and further from the surface.

It felt as though he’d only just collapsed onto the bed when he was unceremoniously dumped onto the floor. As he scrambled to his feet, his first instinct was to check on Pippi. The little blighter slept soundly through the turbulence, her crib rocking with the ship. 

Pippi had missed her afternoon nap, and decided she didn’t want to be put down when the sun set either. She fought sleep, and wanted to stay up. However, she got angry because she was too tired to play. Luckily his adventure with the mermaids let him miss the worst of it.

It was well after midnight before sleep finally claimed her. She’d just been put down when he was dragged over the railing. 

Jas. carefully pulled the crib to the center of the room, where nothing could tip over onto her. He held onto the edge of the table as he crossed the short distance to the door. Outside the wind snatched at his hair, whipping it into his eyes and mouth. It tore at his nightshirt, and the rain plastered the fabric to his legs. 

The mooring lines had snapped, and the ship risked colliding with the jagged rocks around Sharktooth Isle, which marked the entrance to the Teeth. Murphy’s tall figure was near the starboard side, trying to secure the rigging. 

He shouted over the wind, only for it to whisk the orders away before it reached the crew. They were too far out to seek shelter in a canal or protected bay. He wasn’t about to risk trying to get the ship further inland, not so near the cliff caves where all manners of nasty things nested. 

His feet slipped on the rain soaked deck as he struggled to get to the wheel. Without the prosthetic, he was forced to gain control with one hand, and the end of his arm. The spokes were sure to leave bruises on his forearm as he stopped it from spinning. He had to get the bow pointed towards the wind.

Rain and salt water blinded him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision without letting go of the wheel. Over the wind he heard a faint “cap’n” shouted to his left. The blurry figure, long and lanky, could only be Bill. He ordered for the second anchor to be dropped once the ship was in position. 

With two anchors keeping the ship relatively in one place, and the rigging secured, Jas. retreated to the cabin. Pippi, as if sensing he was no longer in the room, had awoken. Soaked to the bone once more, he was forced to let her wail until he could get out of his wet clothes. 

Wrapped in his thickest robe, he scooped her up, as the deck rocked beneath his feet. “Now now, hush that squalling.” He unsteadily made his way to the bed, and sat on the edge of the mattress. 

He wondered, as he rocked Pippi, if the storm was punishment for making allies of the mermaids, and daring to seek out the woman. Pan could’ve been watching. No, he thought, the boy rarely went out at night, and when he did, all of the island knew it. He’d seen no signs of torches, no bonfires, nor heard any whoops and shouts. This was simply a storm, nothing more. No need for paranoia, he hoped.

Jas. consoled Pippi as best he could, until she hiccuped quietly against his neck. Her little fist held a lock of wet hair, clinging to it like a rescue line. He patted her back with the end of his arm and braced as the ship pitched.

So much for planning. They’d have to postpone the search until the rain let up. Though, he reckoned, that woman would likely have to hunker down as well. “Who do you think she is?” He asked Pippi, just wanting to talk aloud, though his voice was still hoarse from sharing breath with the mermaids, and shouting. 

His body ached, and the pillows were tempting. In stead, he freed his hair from Pippi’s grasp, and adjusted the front of his robe. It was too rough to try and feed her fruit or pudding. Her solid meal would just have to wait. With the crew busy, there would be no one to clean her up afterward, and he wasn’t about to attempt it alone. 

The tin of cigarillos were in the top drawer of his desk, across the room. A tempting thing, just waiting to be opened. However, his lungs still burned when he took a deep breath. The mermaids had taken so much out of him. He didn’t regret the experience, but it was more taxing than he’d anticipated. 

They’d taken him to a grotto, lit only by strands of bioluminescent fungi hanging from the ceiling. He’d hardly been able to see, but at least he could make out their figures and the gleam of their scales. His hand touched what could’ve been treasure or bones. It was difficult to tell which, and could very likely have been a mixture of both.

Their hands were curious and bold. He’d lost his boots in the journey, and one of them squealed in alarm when it pulled one of his stockings free. It seemed more shocked he hadn’t reacted with pain, but once it realized it wasn’t skin, that stocking was tucked away somewhere in the hoard.

He remembered the black scaled one remarking how he smelled. “Like one of the littlest.” It leaned in close but kept clear of the iron pendant. “Their bones are so soft. So easy to crack open.” He watched as it’s serpentine tail lashed excitedly. 

“If you let us take more, we won’t eat your little one should she fall in the water.”

“I cannot make that promise, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll keep that in mind.”

They’d filled him up, encircling him like constrictors. It’d be terrifying and blissful all at once. Then he’s been deposited back in the dinghy after they’d had their fun. He’d been too tired, too addled to complain about having to row back. 

With the end of his arm, he pushes some hair out of Pippi’s face. She needed to be sent home soon, before she could form too many solid and lasting memories. Part of him worried that in sending her away, he’d be sending her to a mother she didn’t recognize. He cursed himself for getting so attached, but that was the way his life was in Neverland. Nothing ever went according to plan.

_[Commissioned art by Star](https://twitter.com/jawnwicks) _

**Author's Note:**

> A quick and dirty writing exercise. Sketches of these characters can be found on my tumblr and pillowfort.


End file.
